


Gentle Reminders

by Kimauki (Rumchata)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi, pre-widowmaker, ptsd/ocd mention, small mention of angela
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 13:44:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8251228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumchata/pseuds/Kimauki
Summary: Lena, for the first time in forever, comes down with the flu. || Lacroixton





	

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh, so I don't know what happened, I just wanted to write a cute little fluffy one-shot with these three and then I ended up writing a lot more. I mean, I guess it's still fluffy? But a little more heavier fluff? Is that a thing...? Omg. Anyway-- here you go x:

               Lena came back to the Lacroix’s one evening after a tiring mission, sniffling despite her best attempts toward hiding it. Her aim had been off, her mind fuzzy—and whenever she blinked, it felt like she was tripping over molasses. Great stroke of luck that she hadn’t botched up the mission just from all that, but fortunately their enemy consisted of just some Talon lackeys. She felt absolutely knackered. Of course, she was determined to blame it all on some imagined allergen or other, though she rarely suffered from allergies.

Denial was the best medicine.

“Coming down with something, Rudolph?” Gérard had teased in greeting, placing a kiss on the very nose he’d made fun of before being promptly shoved away. He feigned offense, placing a hand over his wounded heart. “Aw, don’t be so cold,  _ch_ _érie_ _!_ ”

“Har- _har_ ,” Lena grumbled, usually cheery voice coming out raspier than she liked. “It’s nothin’, really! Just a bit of allergies an’ all, yeah?”

Lena did  _not_  get sick.

Gérard appeared unconvinced though, Amélie even more so. Her other lover had been keeping her distance, the girl noted. She proved it by leaning out of Lena’s reach when she’d made a move to kiss her, to which Lena huffed.

“What, y’think I’m sick too?” Lena crossed her arms, watching Amélie incline a delicate eyebrow as though this much were obvious.

“ _Mon amour,_  you  _are_  sick. And while you  _are_  adorable, I do  _not_  want to catch your little bug.”

So Lena opted for leaning into Gérard, who was all the happier to hold her while she pouted. She really couldn’t remember the last time she’d come down with something, to be quite honest. She was always rushing around, involved in a number of things that the very idea of being out of commission for a few days terrified her. All that time wasted… She couldn’t afford to be ill, so she was stubborn with belief that simply wishing it away would do the trick. That's how she handled most of her problems, honestly-- storing them in a nice little file called "Not Happening" to never deal with again. It’s how she so expertly coped with the aftermath of the Slipstream, except if by “coping” one meant ‘making one’s problems worse in the long run’, then yeah. Lena was excellent at _that_.

 “Why don’t you go lie down, and we’ll make you some dinner, hm?” Gérard’s warm voice brought her out of her thoughts, and before Lena could even agree he was guiding her to their plush couch in the living room.

“I’ll be jus’ fine in a bit, _really_ ,” She’d protested, still accepting the blanket he’d laid over her. The prospect of their cooking did lift her mood, though—they always made  _fantastic_  meals. Gérard usually was the chef of the house, but Amélie had a knack for spices that could turn any dish into something extra. The very idea had her stomach rumbling. Lena felt very lucky indeed, because she was absolute rubbish in the kitchen. Before these two, her idea of a fine meal was take out from the slightly shady _not-so-government-approved_ business few roads down the block. Actually, she was pretty sure Amélie and Gérard were horrified when discovering her dieting habits, and probably cooked more often just to make sure she didn’t eat junk like that ever again. Not that she was complaining…

Eventually, though, she grew restless with laying on the couch and waiting—as though she might be admitting defeat to her immune system ( _Gods forbid_ )—and pushed up off the couch.

“ _Sooo_ , what’cha’ makin’?” She queried, peeking into the kitchen. It would’ve been nice if she could actually smell anything, but she did see a pot simmering on the stove in front of Amélie. Gérard was busy slicing vegetables on the counter sporting one of those ridiculous aprons that Lena had bought as a gag gift one year. “KISS THE COOK” was emblazoned on the front in all its stereotypical glory. The scene was so domestic that she had to laugh.

“ _Lena_ ,” Amélie spun around, wielding her wooden ladle threateningly. “Go lay back down— _honestly_!”

“Always so impatient, isn’t she?” Gérard laughed, moving to shoo her away from the kitchen—though not before planting another small kiss on her cheek to tide her over.

“Alright, alright, I'm goin'!”

With a rather exaggerated groan, Lena found herself waiting on the couch once again.

In the end, the dinner had been worth the wait. They’d made a beef stew with red wine, and even through dulled senses Lena ate every last drop from her bowl on the couch. Gérard was nestled in by her side with the blanket over them, though Amélie took a respectful distance on her own small loveseat by the table. Lena thought she was being dramatic, but she did know that the woman hated sickness almost as much as she did. She wasn’t offended, though, and could tell she was doting on her in her own special way. Like providing Lena with three giant pillows for the couch even though she really just needed one—or checking her temperature, and making her drink water even when she felt she didn’t need it.

She set her bowl down on the table before leaning back, suddenly exhausted. Her head hurt a bit too, but she wasn’t willing to admit it just yet— hoping that maybe a good sleep would cure it overnight. In a way, the dull thudding in her skull combined with her fatigue and a warm belly full of stew felt strangely comforting.

It wasn’t long before she fell asleep after that, succumbing to exhaustion.

 

* * *

 

Lena regretted waking.

Reluctantly cracking open puffy eyes, she grimaced at the morning light spilling through the window. What was a dull thud last night had evolved into a pounding ache as if Lúcio himself were throwing his own personal concert inside her skull—using her brain as the mixing tables. An attempt at clearing her throat devolved into a coughing fit, effectively waking the two in bed beside her.

So much for pretending she wasn’t sick.

Amélie’s foot rubbed against her calf distractingly, her freakishly long legs somehow having wound up tangled in between her own despite Gérard laying between them both. His own arm around her waist tightened before she felt him cuddle in closer, stubble scratching lightly against her shoulder.

“How’re you feeling,  _chérie_?”

Lena would’ve twisted in his embrace to meet his eyes, but that required far too much effort. Especially when one had a lovely metallic contraption buckled around them. 

“Like—“ Phlegm caught in her throat, forcing a few seriously unattractive coughs from her. “—complete bollocks.”

“ _Pauvre fille_ ,” Amélie murmured, having moved to lean over Gérard and get a better look at her other lover. Lena felt a freezing hand palm her forehead, shifting back to caress a few wild strands of her hair. “Hm, you really don’t look so well. Perhaps we should call Angela?”

“No, _no_ , don’t do that—I’ve got so much to do today—!”

She had papers to turn in from her last mission report, Winston wanted to check in on her accelerator, and there’d be another briefing later for the next mission, and she  _still_ hadn’t done her laundry—

Lena hadn’t realized she’d been in the middle of jumping out of bed before Gérard’s arm reeled her back in beneath warm blankets, trapping her there.

“You’re not going anywhere, not like this,” Gérard said firmly, and Lena knew with that tone of voice it would be hopeless trying to argue with him. At least she could hope to settle for a compromise.

“Jus’… don’t call Angela, _please_?” She twisted around then, hoping she looked as pathetic as she sounded. Lena _hated_ making people worry, and it was bad enough the two of them were as concerned over her as she was. Angela didn’t need to be dragged into it even if she were a doctor. It wasn’t like she’d went and broke something. She’d feel better by the end of the day, she was sure of it.

Just a little bug…

A bug that felt like a sledgehammer on her sinuses, more like.

“Alright. But let us take care of you, for once.” Amélie cupped Lena’s cheek, thumb grazing blushing skin—though whether it was from the attention or sickness remained questionable. 

“…’Dunno what I’d do without you two,” Lena mumbled then, embarrassed and twisting back around to hide her deepening blush. It was her way of saying thank you, for more than just sticking around when she was gross and sick. She’d been so accustomed to being seen _through_ rather than acknowledged as a ghost of time. After spending what felt like an eternity alone in a void of her own thoughts and memories—past, present, and future—having such intimate attention on her made her feel awkward. It wasn’t like it was a bad thing, she just—didn’t know how to react to it half the time. Like she felt she didn’t deserve it, for whatever reason.

“Anything for our sweet,” Gérard rumbled in her ear, slipping his hand into her own to give a gentle squeeze.

 

* * *

 

“I’ve never seen her so out of it,” Gérard remarked a few hours later, by the doorway where the two of them watched Lena continue to sleep as though she were dead to the world. It didn’t take her long to fall back unconscious after convincing her to stay in bed, and the two didn’t want to disturb her rest. Clearly, her sickness was not as “fine” as she’d been trying to convince the two. She’d woken a few times briefly, taking water that they offered and coughing up a lungful that made even Amélie wince to hear. No doubt her ribs would be sore with the effort. Every position seemed uncomfortable to the girl, who would toss and turn awkwardly with the obstacle that was her chronal anchor. She also kept kicking off the blankets, only to start shivering until one of the two tucked her back in.

Their poor, sweet, Lena.

“ _Non_ ,” Amélie agreed, moving to take her temperature. She came back with the reading, looking rather upset. “I’m calling Angela. She has a fever of 40 degrees.”

 

Luckily, Lena was too out of it to realize that their favorite doctor had paid a house visit to check in on her. By the time Angela arrived, her temperature had climbed just a smidge higher, and she tsk’d at the readings.

“I’ll give her something for it that will help, but it should come down on its own once she breaks the fever. Just keep an eye on her, and make sure she gets plenty of fluids—it’s important to keep her hydrated.” She sighed, rubbing at her nose. “It could be due to a number of things, but knowing Lena, she has probably been ignoring our advice to relax every now and then.”

Not everyone could understand the relationship these three had, but Angela welcomed it—she’d known Lena long enough to understand that for some reason, the girl just didn’t want to tell people what was bothering her—and that often got her into more trouble than was necessary. Ever since she’d been welcomed into their relationship, it seemed she was opening up more, and taking her health a bit more seriously.

It was a good thing for her; Angela could only hope it would continue to stay that way.

“She does not seem to know the word,” Amélie rolled her eyes, though her lips were quirked in a smile.

“Don’t worry, we’ll keep an eye on her.” Gérard nodded, grateful for the reassurance.

“Let me know if anything changes, ja?”

 

* * *

 

 

Some time later, Lena woke again—drenched in sweat. She felt absolutely disgusting, but couldn’t find the energy to rightly care because she was too busy hacking up a lung. She’d had a wild dream, and the vivid imagery still clung to her like a hazy veil. Movement in her vision didn’t register until she felt someone supporting her back to learn forward, urging a cup of water to her mouth.

“Whazzat—“ She drank anyway, recognizing who it was the moment she felt their palm against her forehead.

“Water. And I want you to try to eat some of this, too.” Amélie shifted on the bed next to her, replacing the cup of water in her hand for a bowl of some sort of soup. It suddenly occurred to Lena that Amélie had an arm around her shoulders, supporting most of her weight—and before, hadn’t she touched her cheek?

“Thought y’weren’t so keen on touchin’ me?” Lena teased, leaning further into the woman with a cheeky grin despite sounding more like a sad zombie extra on a B-movie set.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Amélie warned, presence alone saying enough for the two of them. Gérard was the more emotional of the two, but Lena knew that for Amélie, actions were her way of expressing herself.  She held the bowl out for Lena while she ate, understanding that she would have felt offended if she tried to spoon feed her. At least her fever seemed to be breaking already—and while it was a good thing, it had been surprisingly quick. Amélie had to wonder if perhaps the accelerator had something to do with it—she knew that Lena already had an extraordinary metabolism (the girl could devour a staggering amount of food and show nothing for it), so an improved immune system wouldn’t be too farfetched.

“Thanks, love,” Lena sighed, content to relax in her embrace. She shifted to check the time on their bedside clock, but found that the display had been turned opposite so she couldn’t read it properly.  Something about that bothered her.

“What time is it?”

“You’ve been in and out all day—don’t worry about the time _chérie_.”

“Amé…” Lena swallowed hard, fingers twisting nervously in the blanket on her lap, “Please? I just—I need to know.”

Something in Lena’s voice made Amélie relent, as she briefly leaned away to twist the display back around.

“It’s 8:35 PM,” She confirmed gently, stroking Lena’s arm in a comforting gesture. Lena knew the answer would upset her, as it _felt_ late, but…in a small way, just knowing the time gave her a measure of comfort. “We knew wasting the day would upset you, _chérie_ , so we moved the clock. I had hoped it would help you relax— _désolée_.”

“It’s—it’s okay,” Lena sighed, wishing she didn’t feel so bonkers about such a simple thing. “I dunno why I get so, y’know—I just, if I don’t know what time it is, I can’t—“ She coughed, shaking her head. “—can’t relax. Ever since…” She shrugged, glaring in frustration at her lap, hum of her accelerator sounding louder in her silence. “Sorry. It’s nuts of me, I know…”

Her thoughts sounded much more ridiculous once she voiced them, finding comfort again in fidgeting with the fabric of the blanket. It was hard, even admitting how much it bothered her, that she wasn’t perfectly okay after the whole accident. Gérard and Amélie hadn’t pushed to know all the details, but they on more than one occasion let her know that they were always there for her.

“Oh Lena,” Gérard had been standing in the doorway quietly until then, having finished cleaning around the house. He moved to join the two on Lena’s other side, a pang of guilt settling in his stomach for causing her such upset. Taking her hand, he intertwined shaking fingers within his own. “There’s nothing wrong with you for it. _Nothing_.”

Amélie took Lena’s other free hand, bringing it close to press a soft kiss against her knuckles.  

“And we will love you no less, _ch_ _é_ _rie_.”

Lena wasn’t quite sure what came over her then, but she sniffled, and this time it wasn’t from her sickness. Soon enough she was enveloped in a tight embrace on either side, reminded once again why she felt so lucky to have the two in her life. Lena was most likely ragingly contagious, and as unappealing as ever covered in a sickly sweat with a hoarse voice—but here they were, whispering gentle reminders of why she was so important to them, without a care for it. Even Amélie, so put off with contagion, had given her a sweet, lingering kiss on the lips—whispering something in French that sounded beautiful though she’d have to ask the translation of later. Gérard's fingers threaded through her hair, scratching lightly just the way she liked. It was soothing, and she found her fingers weren't shaking anymore, allowing herself to simply relax and _be._  They were so understanding, so full of love—Lena felt dizzy with it.

Maybe her day hadn't felt so wasted after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed! Let me know what you think :)  
> I might continue this, as I kind of wanted to write about Amélie catching the flu in turn because of Lena. LOL.
> 
> P.S.: the temp reading is for Celsius. 40 degrees in Fahrenheit is 104 o:
> 
> Edit: When I made this, it was not known that Lena was canonically lesbian, so I hope that doesn't cause discomfort to anyone!


End file.
